


i am torn apart (and my screams are unheard)

by FruityFoxx



Series: Bitter and Sick [2]
Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: here we go again..., people who fetishize r/pe and abuse go the fuck away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 02:29:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16254842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FruityFoxx/pseuds/FruityFoxx
Summary: ‘This,’ Jim thought to himself, ‘is what Hell really feels like.’





	i am torn apart (and my screams are unheard)

**Author's Note:**

> Placed sometime after Bitter and Sick
> 
> i wrote more. oops? same stuff applies as last time, im a survivor so dont bash me or anything for this, im using it as venting, and please kindly fuck off if you fetishize r//pe and/or abuse thaaank you
> 
> also thank you to inco for the title, i cant title things worth shit

_ ‘This,’  _ Jim thought to himself,  _ ‘is what Hell really feels like.’ _

 

He groaned as he was shoved to his knees by the older male in front of him. He pressed his back against the seat of the couch behind him as he sat on his legs. He glared with the heat of a thousand suns up at Strickler, who only tilted Jim’s head up with the his pointer finger.  _ “Don’t give me that look, young Atlas.” _

 

_ ‘And why shouldn’t I?’  _ The aforementioned ‘young Atlas’ thought bitterly in return. Jim sniffled lightly and tugged his head away from Strickler’s hand, moving his eyes back to what was in front of him. The teenager couldn’t help but cringe. He hesitantly moved his hands, one to this asshole’s _ bare  _ hips, the other to his…

 

Jim tried not to look away. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly regardless as he opened his mouth, his tongue slightly poking over his lip. He almost gagged immediately as Strickler pushed his entire cock into his mouth, his eyes popping wide open again. His eyes rolled back into his head _\-- in agony, not pleasure._ _Never_ _pleasure. --_ and he suppressed another gag as he moved to pull his lips off of the man. He worked quickly, picking up the speed of bobbing his head and pumping his hand at the base, and Strickler must have noticed, because with a voice full of ecstasy, he spoke again, “ _Take your time, Atlas._ ” Hearing his voice in the way he did in itself almost made him gag again. Nevertheless, for some reason, he complied.

 

Moving at a much slower pace, Jim’s mind began to drift elsewhere as he proceeded to suck the changeling off.  _ This is so, so wrong,  _ his inner voice supplied. From there, it went to him wondering how everyone would react to finding out about this; not that he would ever let them know, of course.

 

He briefly wondered if the detached state he was in could be considered dissociation. He discovered the term during those moments he had sneakily begun to research the effects of everything that had been going on. He doubted himself, however, thinking that if he had been able to question himself, then there was no way his original thought process could be correct. Right? He winced softly, causing another  _ disgusting  _ groan come from the man he was sucking off. He resisted the urge to let a groan bubble up from his stomach. He’d rather not think about any of this. It was a true shame he couldn’t stop himself.

 

As his thoughts continued to roll, suicide crossed his mind. He wished he could say he shut down the possibility of him killing himself rather quickly, but the sad truth was, he didn’t. In fact, his mind was taken over entirely by the contemplation for a good couple of minutes.

 

_ ‘After all _ ,’ he thought angrily, ‘ _ there’s no other way I’m getting out of this shit.’ _

 

Ripped from his cogitation, he felt hands gripping his black locks of hair so tight it felt as if it was going to be pulled out. He let out a soft, muffled cry, nearly pulling off of Strickler and pleading him to stop tugging so hard, but finding that the other male was keeping him stuck in place. Abruptly, Strickler shoved himself further into his mouth. Jim let out a louder noise of distress, gagging lightly and moving his hands back to his hips. He shoved harder, trying to jerk away, but he froze and blanched upon feeling  _ something _ shoot down his throat. He sat perfectly still and wide-eyed as the older man pulled himself out of Jim’s mouth with a soft  _ Pop! _ , cum dripping down his chin. 

 

Strickler spoke, but Jim didn’t hear a word that was said. He watched with a glaze covering his eyes as the older man cleaned himself up. His head was tilted back by the latter’s hand and he was praised for his “good work.” None of it registered.  The second Strickler exited the house, Jim scrambled up the steps as fast as he could, heaving and gagging all the way. He hardly made it up to the bathroom before he puked his guts out. He spent the rest of his night sobbing over the toilet, tears mixing in with bile and his lunch  _ and Strickler’s-- _

 

He didn’t hear his mother when she entered, only acknowledging her presence as she rushed into the bathroom. “Jim?  _ Jim _ ?” He distantly heard her voice and the faucet running as she immediately went to drench a rag in cold water for him. He dragged his eyes up to her and she clung tightly to him, pressing the freezing rag to his forehead as he racked with violent cries.

 

“What happened?” she went on to ask him, “It’s nearly 3 in the morning.” Her eyes had bags under them and her auburn hair was strewn all over the place, signifying the extent of her exhaustion. It made her assistance sting in his heart-- he knew working in the emergency room was no easy task, and yet even as it seemed hard for her to keep her azure eyes open, she was willing to help him at the drop of a hat.

 

At her question, Jim was forced into his thoughts again. _ Should he tell her? Would it help? Could she save him? _ He thought hard, and all the thinking sent him to heaving again, jerking away from her and throwing up into the toilet again.

 

Ultimately, his decision would be no.

 

This wasn’t a sort of thing he would ever be able to tell her, or anyone for that matter. How was he  _ supposed _ to tell her?  _ ‘This man, your boyfriend, our teacher, he’s a--’  _ Absolutely not. He knew he would be forced to live with the weight of it alone for the rest of his life, however long or short that may be. Someday-- _ if he didn’t die first _ \--he would be alright with that.

 

“I-I just… I really don’t feel good,” he whined out after a while, eyes squeezing shut. He repeated himself, sobbing and slinging himself back into his mother’s arms.

 

As exhausted as the lady was, she still held onto him and comforted him to the best of her abilities. She rubbed his back as he continued to wail, and even went on to carefully help him into the living room with her-- he knees almost caved upon seeing the spot where he had been violated just hours earlier. Nevertheless, he stuck to her, clung to her lap as she sat him-- and by extension, herself-- onto the couch. He then immediately shuffled himself into a comfortable position, resulting in his legs being slung over her lap with his face buried into her neck.  He almost felt as if he were that 5 year old child again, crying into her shoulder as he asked with a frail voice,  _ when is Daddy coming back? _ But his 5 year old self hadn’t gotten his throat fucked by his apparently pedophilic history teacher...who was also a changeling. That would be a story, wouldn’t it? He let out another loud cry.

 

With every question his mother asked, he just shook his head and his sobs continued, sickly pale face burying itself further into the comfort of the crook of her neck. “Jim…” She mumbled with a voice far more gentle than he could have ever deserved. She was much too caring, and he would never deserve it considering what he did. He would never deserve it considering what he  _ allowed  _ to Strickler do. Of course- it  _ was _ all his fault, wasn’t it? How could it not be? He knew what was going to happen, and what had been happening, and all he did was sit back placidly. He should have been more careful. He should have refused to let him come over. He should have told his mother. His mother was a doctor. His mother could save him. He should have… ‘ _ Could’ve, should’ve, would’ve.’  _ It was too late, now. It would always be too late. Too much time had passed, and now he would have to live with the consequences of never being able to tell anyone.

 

...Not that he would ever be able to anyway. That much had been made clear already. He needed to stop going back to thinking about what could be and what could  _ have _ been. It was pointless. It would always be pointless.

 

By the time he had stopped his crying and heaving, Barbara was passed out cold underneath his light weight. God, had he’d been keeping her up? What time was it? A quick check of a clock yielded the bold text  **4:39 AM.** She had already been awake for so long, yet still she tried her hardest to stay awake longer and comfort him. He shouldn’t have made her do that. He moved only to remove her glasses, placing them on the cursed floor beside the couch, and then to curl up closer to her sleeping form. He fell asleep soon after as well. Throughout the time he was asleep, he continued to shake with gentle tears as even his dreams were haunted by Strickler’s face and turned into nightmares. He would have to get used to that, or he would have to stop sleeping entirely one.

 

Going to school the next day was a definite no. He didn’t even wake up until after his mother had left for work. Even the smell of Barbara’s horrid cooking hadn’t shaken him from his deep, nightmare fueled slumber, much to his surprise. He woke up still on the couch, a blanket gingerly wrapped around his body as if placed in a way to prevent him from being awaken; she probably assumed he had needed the sleep.  _ Just like she would have, _ his mind hissed in response, resulting in his shaking his head in attempt to rid himself of the self-pity. He sat up and looked at the table beside the couch, where a plate of burnt-looking waffles sat. He winced. He almost decided anything would be better than to eat her breakfast, however as he sensed the bitter bile taste still in his mouth, he decided otherwise. He let out a groan as he bit into ones of the waffles- hard as rock with the taste of ash and soot. It was the thought that counted.

 

He fell asleep again after finishing off half of one of Barbara’s waffles. He tried to distract himself from the matters at hand as he drifted, but there was no doubting it didn’t work. Once again, his thoughts were haunted by his teacher mentally as opposed to physically, and to the guilt stabbing him in his gut over the fact he caused his mother to stay up so late. These dreams were haunted by chants asking why he wouldn’t tell her, and why would he make her stay awake, and  _ why was he so pathetic? _

 

Even in his dreams, meant to be lighthearted and fun, he would never be able to catch a break.


End file.
